


Keeping Him in Line

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dom/sub, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-War, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-08
Updated: 2009-09-08
Packaged: 2018-10-27 11:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10808508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Dennis is Oliver's good boy, even when he's not.





	Keeping Him in Line

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Written for Kaellite for HP_Summersmut 2009.

Practise today had been brilliant. Brilliance, however, didn’t lessen the fact that Oliver was tired after so many hours spent airborne astride a broomstick, nor that he ached in every muscle after deflecting so many hard-tossed Quaffles thrown his way. It was past seven o’clock, his stomach growled incessantly, and even the hot shower in the changing room hadn’t helped much with the soreness. He was more than ready to go home for the evening.

 

Slinging his cloak over his shoulders, Oliver turned down his teammates’ invitations to join them at the local pub, smoothing over their dismay with a grin and a promise to buy a round for everyone after their victory against Caerphilly on Saturday. Following the series of practises during the week, he was confident it wasn’t a promise that would be broken. Puddlemere _would_ beat Caerphilly, he was sure of it. Waving good-bye to his mates, Oliver walked the short distance to the Apparition point and went home, ready to relax.

 

He walked inside to find a kitchen filled with smoke despite having every window open, Dennis coughing in its midst as he tried to banish it with his wand. Sighing, Oliver drew his wand also and joined him; and in a few minutes the kitchen was clear again.

 

“I hope that wasn’t dinner,” he said, fixing Dennis with a stern look. “I’m starving.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Dennis whispered, crestfallen. “I was developing film from the Weasley-Longbottom wedding – Charlie and Neville made the sweetest pair, I thought – and I lost track of time, and then I smelled smoke and by then it was too late, and I’m so sorry!”

 

So the smoking mess sitting on top of the oven had indeed been dinner. Oliver scrubbed a hand over his face as his stomach gave a whine of disappointment. “Enough, boy,” he said tiredly. “You’ll be punished for this later.”

 

Dennis bit his lip, eyes lowering. “Yes, sir,” he murmured in submissive acknowledgment.

 

“All right, then. I guess we’ll have sandwiches and crisps, instead.” Oliver dropped into a chair, watching the younger man move around the kitchen, fetching bread and meat and cheese for sandwiches. “Tell me about your day. Did you have any assignments, or was it all spent developing film?”

 

“I was at a wedding this morning,” Dennis replied, pulling out mustard and pickles from the refrigerator. He had taken up the camera following his brother’s death, discovering soon after he had a real talent for photography. He made his living mostly as a wedding photographer, taking pictures both magical and Muggle, straddling both worlds. He also moonlighted for the _Daily Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_ in his spare time for extra Galleons. Oliver had set aside a room especially for Dennis’ work after he’d moved in with him so he could develop film from his photography gigs, an arrangement that worked well for both of them.

 

Oliver listened to his chatter, only partially paying attention. Dennis liked to talk, and Oliver often found it easier to simply let the words wash over him rather than have Dennis speak less. If he punished for loquacity, the poor boy would never be able to sit down at all, and Oliver wasn’t a cruel master, merely a strict one.

 

Dennis brought the sandwiches and crisps to the table, setting down a plate in front of Oliver before standing to one side. Oliver jerked his head to one side, giving him permission to join him at the table, and picked up a sandwich, watching Dennis bring a second plate to the table and sit.

 

“What of your day?” Dennis asked softly, picking up a crisp and biting into it. “Did practise go well?”

 

“We’re ready for the match against Caerphilly,” Oliver replied, wolfing down one sandwich and reaching for another. “I blocked nearly all of the shots tossed my way, enough to please the captain. Of course, it would have been great if I’d blocked them all, but I don’t think that’s been done in the history of Keeping. We’ll win, you’ll see.” He made sure Dennis had tickets to all of Puddlemere’s matches, knowing he’d cheer himself hoarse no matter how well or how badly Oliver played. “I had to body block quite a few Quaffles, though, and I’m feeling every one of them. Sometimes I think Ashwell wishes she played Beater instead of Chaser.”

 

Dennis looked up shyly from his plate. “Maybe I could rub your shoulders? After you’re done eating?”

 

“You may.” Oliver took another bite from his sandwich, schooling his expression to impassivity. He knew perfectly well why Dennis had asked, in hopes of lessening his punishment later. Oliver had no intention of reducing it. The boy had burned dinner, after all; the kitchen still reeked of smoke despite the banishing charms used to disperse it. “How was the wedding you photographed today?”

 

“The usual. The bride was lovely, the bridesmaids wore hideous dresses, the groom was so nervous he was sweating. Both of the mothers-in-law cried. The food at the reception was delicious though, I have to say.”

 

Eventually Oliver pushed away his plate, his stomach comfortably full, and stood. “I’ll be in the lounge listening to the wireless. Clean the kitchen and then bring me the paddle. Don’t dawdle, boy.”

 

Dennis swallowed hard, shoulders drooping, and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

 

Oliver went into the lounge and turned on the wireless, one ear tuned to the match between Appleby and Winbourne, the other listening to the rattle of dishes in the sink as Dennis cleaned up their meal. Making his way to the sofa, he sat down and got comfortable. He heard Dennis rinse out the basin and wipe down the table and countertops, listened while he swept the kitchen floor and Banished the fallen crumbs. He listened while Dennis made his reluctant way to their bedroom and the drawer holding the leather-bound wooden paddle, looking up only when the boy entered the room, lower lip already trembling in dreadful anticipation.

 

Dennis handed over the paddle, stretching across Oliver’s lap when he patted his thigh impatiently and lifting his robe, baring his high, firm arse to Oliver’s gaze. Oliver wasted no time, trapping the boy’s legs between his own so he couldn’t kick while the punishment was administered, and brought down the paddle. It was followed by another, and another in a quick merciless fury of smacks, bringing the blood to the skin and reddening it nicely in no time at all. Dennis yelped at the initial contact, voice breaking into sobs as the paddling continued.

 

The blows rained down hard and steady, Oliver making certain every inch of Dennis’ buttocks and the backs of his thighs received equal treatment, watching as the skin turned red, then scarlet, then crimson; and Dennis writhed and squirmed uncontrollably, crying out with every swat of the paddle over his sensitised flesh.

 

“I’m sorry!” he cried tearfully. “I’m sorry, sir! I’ll be more careful next time, I promise, oh please...”

 

“I hope so,” Oliver replied sternly. “If it happens again, I’ll use the belt.”

 

Dennis shuddered, crying helplessly as Oliver administered a final dozen smacks, each one harder than the last before setting the paddle aside. He smoothed a hand over the boy’s arse, feeling the heat emanating from the abused skin. There would likely be bruises there tomorrow, and Dennis probably wouldn’t be able to sit comfortably for a couple of days; but so long as he learned his lesson, the punishment was worth it. Oliver didn’t like disciplining Dennis like this, but they both knew he required it sometimes.

 

“It’s all right,” he murmured, rubbing Dennis’ back reassuringly. “It’s over.”

 

Dennis released another sob as Oliver took him into his arms, still rubbing his back while the boy wept against his neck. “It won’t happen again, sir, I promise. I’ll keep track of time, I won’t burn dinner, I’m sorry!”

 

“Shhh, Dennis, I know.” And like that they were back on equal footing. Oliver didn’t believe in holding grudges. They could be Oliver and Dennis again, not Sir and Boy, at least for a while.

 

They stayed on the sofa, Oliver listening to the match while Dennis’s sobs subsided to sniffles and hiccoughs. He was surprised yet pleased when Winbourne won the match – Appleby had been hot on Puddlemere’s tail in the rankings. It gave him even more motivation to beat Caerphilly on Saturday. He glanced at the clock on the mantel when it chimed half ten, and stretched, wincing.

 

“Bedtime, I think,” he said. “We both have busy days tomorrow.”

 

“I’ll run a bath for you first,” Dennis offered softly. “You said I could rub your shoulders after dinner. It’ll help you sleep better tonight.”

 

“So you did.” Oliver got to his feet, pulling Dennis up with him, “and you’re absolutely right. I do sleep better after one of your massages.”

 

Dennis smiled, leaning in to kiss Oliver’s cheek. “I won’t be but a moment,” he said before slipping out of the room. Oliver could hear him bustling about the bedroom, putting away the paddle and setting out their pyjamas on the bed, followed soon after by the sound of running water as Dennis filled the bath.

 

Entering the bath, Oliver quickly stripped down and stepped into the large tub, closing his eyes and breathing a sigh of pleasure as he sank into the steaming water. Dennis knelt behind him on the tile, reaching for the bottle of infused oil kept on hand for occasions such as this. He felt Dennis press a soft kiss to one shoulder before beginning the massage.

 

Oliver let out a low groan as Dennis kneaded his sore shoulders and back with firm hands. The oil drew out the pain and stiffness, melting them away, leaving him relaxed and free of the dull ache. Dennis didn't stop rubbing though, and it wasn't long before, against his will, Oliver found his body responding. He was tired, but his cock simply didn't seem to be getting the message. “Dennis, get undressed and join me.”

 

He leaned back, letting the hot water soak into his muscles while Dennis removed his clothes and stepped into the tub, going to his knees and straddling Oliver’s thighs. Oliver wrapped an arm around him, drawing him close until their chests pressed flush against the other, already moving closer to kiss Dennis’ half-parted lips. Dennis shifted, cupping Oliver’s face in both hands and returning the kiss with greedy, thorough abandon, squirming and wriggling when Oliver began kneading his still-reddened and undoubtedly sore cheeks, his finger slipping between them to find his hole, circling it gently.

 

He let go long enough to retrieve the tube of waterproof lube resting beside the soap dish, squeezing a generous amount onto his fingers. Slowly, he pushed the tip of his finger inside Dennis, pulling it back out to circle the rim, repeating the motion over and over, letting his finger move deeper inside each time until it was completely engulfed in tight heat. Dennis’ moans filled his mouth, and Oliver fought against the urge to go faster, wanting to take his time and watch Dennis come undone beneath his touch. Plunging a second finger inside, he criss-crossed them roughly, stretching and preparing Dennis for him.

 

“Tell me,” Oliver murmured into Dennis’ ear, breaking off the kiss. “Tell me how much you need me inside you.”

 

“Need you,” Dennis moaned, rocking back against Oliver’s fingers in wanton abandon, unable to hold back his gasps and whimpers as they twisted more deeply into him. He let out a choking cry as Oliver brushed over his prostate, stroking the spot again and again. He clung to Oliver for balance, crying out again when Oliver slid a third finger into him, the digits rubbing and thrusting, making Dennis nearly incoherent with pleasure. “Need you, Oliver, need all of you, oh, please, need you inside me...”

 

Unable to resist such pretty begging, Oliver grasped Dennis’ hips, lifting him up. “Hold my cock,” he ordered.

 

Dennis hastened to obey, and Oliver guided him down, slowly and inexorably until Dennis was back in his lap, impaled to the hilt, his breath hitching in gasps of mingled pleasure and pain as Oliver filled him completely and his sore arse pressed firmly against Oliver’s thighs. Oliver kept his hands on Dennis’s hips, holding him in place while Dennis wrapped his legs around Oliver’s back, and began thrusting upward, driving into him and quickly establishing a rough pace, bouncing Dennis up and down on his cock, his red buttocks slapping against wet skin hard enough to sting.

 

“Touch yourself,” he breathed, and Dennis again obeyed without hesitation, wrapping his fingers around his erection and stroking, sliding his thumb across the head every so often. His head fell back, lips parting on a moan. He looked beautiful, his expression torn between desperation and pleasure.

 

“Ride me,” Oliver whispered, sliding his hands up Dennis’ back and into his hair, meeting his eyes. “Hard.”

 

Again, Dennis wasted no time in complying with the demand, lifting up enough until Oliver was just barely inside still before slamming back down, again and again in a punishing, brutal rhythm. Each thrust left Dennis crying out, his moans more desperate and breathless with every rough stroke, still fisting his cock frantically. Oliver touched him everywhere, stroking Dennis’ hair from his eyes, skimming his fingers down his back and along his arms, tugging and pulling at his nipples hard enough to make Dennis cry out and writhe, tossed once more between ecstasy and agony.

 

He shouted hoarsely and stiffened moments later, cock pulsing his seed over his hand, jerking and twitching through his release. Oliver grabbed the back of Dennis’ head, pulling him in for a rough kiss, increasing the speed and force of his thrusts, feeling his balls tighten with impending climax. He was groaning into Dennis’ mouth within a minute, toes curling and uncurling spasmodically as he poured deep inside Dennis.

 

Dennis slumped forward, sated and boneless, breathing hard against Oliver’s neck. Oliver cuddled him close, fingers combing gently through Dennis’ soft hair, still buried deep inside the other man. He knew he ought to move soon, but right now he was content to hold and be held.

 

“All right, love?” he asked softly, one hand sliding down to squeeze one abused arse cheek.

 

“I’m fine,” came the equally soft reply, Dennis nuzzling Oliver’s neck. “Sore.”

 

“You should be. I hope you don’t come to expect sex so soon after being punished every time. This was an exception.”

 

“I know.” Dennis shifted gingerly on Oliver’s lap. “I deserved punishing, I know I did. It was a very nice exception, though. Thank you, sir.”

 

“You’re welcome.” Oliver gave Dennis a final swat, making him squeak, and handed him the flannel. “Now, let’s finish our bath. Wash my back and I’ll wash yours.” 

 

 

 


End file.
